


Wished Away

by zyr (pxssnelke)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, introspective, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 23:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxssnelke/pseuds/zyr
Summary: “We know you’re here!” they shout, skimming the part of the forest where he’d been spotted earlier.There’s green around him everywhere and when he lifts his head, he can just so spot the backs of some of them.He ducks again, quickly, heart racing.They can’t find him.(Or: a hades and Persephone retelling where Yuri wants to rise to power and Otabek is willing to help)
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Kudos: 15
Collections: Otayuri Mini-Bang 2019





	Wished Away

**Author's Note:**

> I got to write again for the Otayuri bang which made me really happy! I decided on a hades and Persephone au and was really glad I got to explore the characters in this setting.  
Thank you a lot to mel who made this possible and every other participant since without you it wouldn’t have been the same!

“We know you’re here!” they shout, skimming the part of the forest where he’d been spotted earlier.

There’s green around him everywhere and when he lifts his head, he can just so spot the backs of some of them.

He ducks again, quickly, heart racing.

They can’t find him. 

He looks around his hiding place carefully as to not accidentally step onto a twig or move against something that could make a sound and give away his position.

They’re like bloodhounds when they’re searching for him. There’s no escaping them.

He finds flowers blooming.

Columbines, cyclamens, wild orchids and tons of pastel blue forget-me-nots are starting to grow under his bare feet and around him, alluded by his presence.

The bushes are starting to look greener than just a second ago, all blemishes healed over, new leaves sprouting. 

It’s almost as if nature is leaning into him, to absorb as much of his presence as possible, coming to life at his energy.

He bats playfully at the knosp of a columbine and it opens beautifully under his touch, letting its petals fold open elegantly over his fingers that keep the blossom from hanging down.

He lets it go, enraptured with its beauty, just like he always is.

But he hears the steps coming closer and closer and closer and he leaps from the luscious nest that has grown around him, vines both creeping up his ankles and reaching down to touch his shoulders.

He leaps and runs, the light fabric of his clothes trailing behind him.

It doesn’t catch in any thorns or at the bark of the oaks and birches and firs that he passes.

He leaps over a dead tree that has been unearthed by a storm and follows an invisible path, always aware of the footsteps in his back.

They’ve undoubtedly seen him, seen the fluttering of his robes, seen the movement in the trees, the way they almost bow to create a passage for him, seen the way forget-me-nots are blooming where he steps, how the moss is just a bit more luscious.

He runs and runs and he asks the blackberries and the vines to close the way behind him, conceal where his feet have touched the ground.

He turns and he only sees them through a steadily building net of green.

They still are behind him, taking turns around where the forest grows to protect him and running longer ways at a higher speed.

He prays for a wind to carry him to another place, or for any of the gods to show up and whisk him away. Simply vanish with him, so that they won’t catch him.

This is not the life he wants, it’s not the life he deserves. He needs to be more powerful.

He looses his footing, then, when the forest ground changes. Instead of the soft green that has caressed his feet, there are now stones poking his soles, the ground dry and dead.

He whips his head back again, but he doesn’t see them from where he has fallen. 

There’s a river rushing in his ears and he shakes his head to clear it, to get away from it. 

When the sound is gone, it’s replaced by a soft rustling behind him. The vines and blackberries are still doing their job, are still shielding him, and so are all the other plants in the forest, even though he hasn’t explicitly asked them to. 

They have taken a liking to him, but he doesn’t know if it’s only because he is Gaia’s child or not.

There is more rustling, this time louder, hands that are pulling at tendrils that break skin with their thorns, whispers of pain. 

He’s escaped. He’s nearly free from them. He’s so close. 

They won’t get through the blackberries, not if they don’t want them to. 

It’s a reassuring thought, that he is safe here, on this little clearing that brings dead ground. It also brings a certain irony with it.

He hears water again.

Behind him, despite everything, despite their love for him, the vines are receding. He hears it in the movement first, the way the sounds have changed. 

His head snaps back in fear, the rushing in his ears growing louder and louder.

He is panicking now and for once there are no plants under his feet that grow no matter how averse the environment seems. 

His breathing grows faster and the rushing in his ears intensifies. He doesn’t know if it’s his blood or something else.

They have fire.

-

He hears the cry for help before anyone else does. 

He suspects he’s probably the only one who hears it at all. 

It’s intended to call someone who is close by, someone who can help immediately, but he doesn’t think many other gods are out in this area currently.

It’s the dawn of a new day, just when the streets of the little town start to get busy, before the heat later in the day makes the noise die out again. 

It’s when the plants are still sparkling with drops of fresh dew, as if they had been ornated with millions of tiny diamonds. 

There’s a web in his way, spun between a fir and an acorn tree. It glitters where the sun hits the drops and he can see rainbows in them when the wind shakes it softly.

He sidesteps the beautiful creation, his face softening, not wanting to destroy the delicate weaving his niece saved.

He turns and continues his walk through the woods, continues his way towards the mountain looming over him. 

The air is still chilly and there are strings of mist moving through the undergrowth, between the trunks and through the branches of the crown. There is a wolf calling, as if his song could stop the sun from rising and bring the moon back to its zenith.

There is the smell of burned flesh in his nose and for a moment he thinks of a boy too young for death and a father too cruel to understand his privilege.

The wolf is silent again and he continues walking on the soft, mossy ground.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the call. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a voice he’s never heard before, one that’s sweet and strong at the same time, calling for help. 

His feet move on their own without him even realising. He leaves the spider’s web, leaves the rainbow droplets, leaves the soft sunrise between the trees and just moves.

He’s not running but he isn’t walking either. There’s a hurriedness to his steps that wasn’t there before and the only thing on his mind is that voice reaching out. 

He can’t leave a prayer unanswered, especially not one for help. 

His focus is linear and he brings with him a part of his world, an escape that whoever he is going to meet so desperately needs.

He comes to a halt in a part of the forest that is dead. 

There’s someone there, sitting on the ground, shaking like the leaves in the breeze that will arrive later in the day. 

He stands for a moment, frozen, because when the boy turns his face towards him he’s the prettiest thing he has ever laid eyes on. He’s ethereal like no human could ever be and it gives away something about him. 

It’s the fear in his eyes that hardens to anger, masking ancient pain as soon as their eyes meet. 

It’s the way he holds himself when he stands up, to face him.

“What are you looking at asshole?” It is not the way he speaks to him.

A smile starts tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You asked for help. Are you going to accept it or not?” He asks, extending his hand for the other to take.

They lock eyes and for a moment he things that the beautiful boy is going to turn him down. There’s so much anger and fear and hurt in his eyes. 

But after a moment of calm assessment their hands touch and he whisks him away.

-

He doesn’t stumble when they are on solid ground again. No he doesn’t stumble because stumbling would be ungraceful and embarrassing and Yuri does not stumble. Especially not in front of attractive strangers. 

Especially not in front of attractive strangers that just helped him out of a situation.

He doesn’t know how the other did it, but when he took his hand, touched the soft palm with his, the earth around them seemed to open up, reality split and everything around them simply was not for a moment. The rushing that had been not returned in full force once the world settled again. 

He knows why now, there’s a river not far from them, a massive one and he can’t see what’s on the other side. He thinks maybe he spots a boat with a man on it, but he doesn’t concentrate on it long enough to be sure. 

He looks at the other again.

“You’re safe here. It’s my home, you’re free to stay as long as you want.” The man looks into his eyes and there is something earnest and kind about him that Yuri hasn’t seen in a while. It’s so open and true and simple that it makes him want to cry for some reason.

He doesn’t.

He’s tired. He’s tired of being chased around by young girls that have nothing in mind but his alleged powers. He’s tired of his parents and everyone else’s overbearing insistence that it’s what he’s destined to do. He’s tired of giving everyone what they want, even if that wasn’t what he was doing.

He’s tired of growing flowers over and over just for them to rot when he steps away for too long. 

The last one isn’t true, he loves the flowers, he thinks. He loves them with all his heart even if they’re fleeting things unlike the old trees that speak with the wisdom their life has given them. 

He loves them and when he realises that there are no forget-me-nots growing steadily between his toes, he feels something twist in his chest. It looks wrong, his bare feet against the clay ground with nothing growing around them.

He wiggles his toes but nothing happens. The ground stays dead.

He fists his fingers into his robes and looks up again, at the man. 

“Thank you,” he says.

“I would love that,” he says.

-

He ends up staying for longer than he had planned. Not that he had planned on how long to stay, but still it feels like he should head back, feels like he should stop taking advantage of the other man’s hospitality.

“You can call me Otabek,” the others says breaking the comfortable silence that had built as soon as they had arrived. 

It’s obvious that the other is waiting for something but isn’t going to push if Yuri isn’t going to offer it. 

It’s not something he is used to, space.

“Yuri,” he answers anyways.

-

He has his own space at the house Otabek led him to on that first day, but most of it is shared between them. 

There is no one else around and the calm quiet that seems to permanently have settled between them isn’t disrupted.

They exist next to each other in the same space, paths intertwining from time to time, meeting and parting ways over and over again.

He doesn’t know what Otabek does exactly except for the fact that he, too, is a god. He leaves the house from time to time, but most of his time is spent in the room that Yuri assumes is his study. 

Despite being a naturally curious person he doesn’t try to find out anything more, doesn’t ask. 

The other has been nothing but kind and good to him and they are so comfortable in their routine that feels like they established it years ago that he doesn’t really care about the rest.

Otabek always makes sure to smile at him and Yuri doesn’t know what to think of that.

It feels like Yuri finally has found a place where he can just be, without expectation, without anyone trying to tell him who he is and who he should be. He thinks he can stay a little bit longer, no matter what price he’ll pay.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out all the other works too!  
Kudos and comments are instant happiness packages <3
> 
> Find me on twitter @pxssnelke


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